


Temporary Tattoo

by HesitateDisintegrate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abused Dean Winchester, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Tattoos, Anxious Castiel (Supernatural), Bad Boy Dean Winchester, Castiel Has a Crush on Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, M/M, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:29:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29948637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HesitateDisintegrate/pseuds/HesitateDisintegrate
Summary: In a world where soulmate injuries appear as tattoos, Castiel grew up plagued by dark marks. He spent his childhood pining, loving, hoping every day to meetthe one.Dean was raised as a hunter, taught to put the fight first and ignore everything else. He never really had a chance to dwell on the wholesoulmatebusiness, not until glaring evidence of it hit him squarely in the face.When they finally meet, things definitely do not go as planned.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 36
Kudos: 49





	1. August 8th, 1985

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was only made possible through the tireless efforts of my beta, casuallyneurotic. Without them, this piece would have a lot less commas, and would make a lot less sense. If you haven't already read everything they've ever written, I respectfully ask... what are you doing with your life? Please, go check out their stories. I promise you won't regret it. 
> 
> Also, yes. I'm fully aware this is the third WIP I have ongoing. Please don't shoot me, I'm craving some feedback and also having severe story ADHD. You should see my rough drafts folder. This one will be on a strict Tuesdays updating schedule (one to which I PROMISE to stick to, on pain of chocolate depravation). 
> 
> I would love LOVE to hear your thoughts on this.

Gabriel was, without a doubt, the best big brother any kid could ask for. He went all out, even though it was just a regular Saturday. Even though it would be just Castiel and Hannah and Balthazar playing in the pool, something they had done millions of times already. 

The glass patio table was heavy with pink lemonade, a huge platter of sliced watermelon, rind off, and all the fixings for the burgers Gabriel was currently grilling.

An abnormally fuzzy bumble bee caught Castiel’s attention, which is the only reason Hannah successfully splashed him before he could dodge the spray. Balthazar saw an opening and the two teamed up against him. Castiel dove down to escape the walls of water being propelled his way. 

The pool was clear and cool, a pleasant rush compared to the muggy heat of the air outside. He opened his eyes underwater, because at six, that was his most perfectly honed skill. He swam expertly right between his friends’ knobbly knees. Castiel resurfaced at the other end of the pool and barely wiped the wet hair out of his eyes before he launched into a watery assault with unparalleled voracity.

“Wait, wait! Pause! Time out!” Hannah gasped between the unrelenting splashes coming her way. Castiel and Balthazar both fell for it, and Hannah successfully sent a huge spray of water in their direction before they could duck away. 

“Cheater!” Balthazar accused, leaping for Hannah and interrupting her laugh by dragging her under. Castiel jumped over them both, sinking down into the frothing water of the fight. 

The three of them resurfaced, spluttering and laughing, a tangle of arms and legs.

“Okay okay, truce!” Balthazar begged, raising his arms above his head to prove he wasn’t about to double cross them. Castiel and Hannah both followed suit, and they lingered like that for a minute in the warm sunshine, all three of their chests heaving. 

Secretly, they were probably grateful for a chance to catch some air. It was rare that they came up with such a good excuse for a break. Under normal circumstances, it was well known that saying you were tired was _unforgivable._

“We should do the Olympics!” Cas said, full of energy once again. He seemed adamantly sure of the idea forming in his mind. “We can have different sports! Like holding your breath and jumping in the water and going down the slide!”

“And racing!” Hannah added, a new gleam in her eyes. 

“YES. That’s such a good idea!” Balthazar agreed enthusiastically. “We should start with the waterslide. I’ll go first!”

He didn’t wait for confirmation, just pulled himself out of the pool and scrambled up the few steps to the top of the slide where a jet of water was spewing, keeping the slide slippery even in the baking heat of the sun. 

Balthazar laid down at the top of the slide flat on his back, plastered his arms to his sides, then wriggled a bit until he caught momentum and splashed neatly into the water. Hannah clapped and Castiel whooped, but it was half distracted because they were already racing to the steps. 

Castiel made it there half a second before Hannah did and pulled himself up the metal rungs with a bright triumphant laugh. He laid on his belly, arms pointed in front of him, and slid down, landing in the water with a hard flop. 

When he resurfaced, his belly was stinging, but his friends were laughing and cheering too hard for him to be upset about it. He swam to the edge of the pool and turned to watch Hannah, who also laid on her belly but went down feet first. 

“And the winner is…” Balthazar said with pomp. All three of them yelled out their own name and in the jumbled argument that followed, it was decided that they were tied and needed a different game to figure out who was the best Olympian. 

Hannah desperately wanted to race, and Balthazar desperately wanted a breath holding competition, and after three tied games of rock, paper, scissors, a decision still hadn’t been made. Cas stepped in as peacemaker, and decided that they should do a breath competition, and when the last person came up, that would be their cue to race to the end of the pool. 

This seemed both wise and overly complicated, which made them feel even wiser, and the plan was heartily agreed upon. They lined up along the deep end of the pool, each holding the plastic edge with one wet and wrinkled hand. 

“We go down on three,” Hannah instructed. 

“Onetwothree!” Balthazar yelled in a rush. Hannah started to protest but both boys took huge gulps of air and plunged their heads recklessly into the water. She had no choice but to follow suit. 

Castiel counted in his head, six, then seven seconds. From beside him, a whole bunch of air bubbles burbled up, making him laugh, exhaling his own air supply quite suddenly. He lasted two whole seconds more before his lungs were burning so badly that he absolutely _had_ to come up for a breath. 

Balthazar was already up and still laughing. When Hannah came up with a triumphant smirk three seconds later, the three took off, arms windmilling and legs kicking wildly to get them to the other end of the pool. 

Hannah cut in front of them both, grasping the edge with a whoop and a splash. 

“Not fair!” Bal said immediately, once he also reached the end. 

“How was that not fair?”

“You started holding your breath after us so you breathed less for longer.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense,” Hannah quipped back, fully prepared to defend her newly won title. Cas was ready to step in as peacemaker again, but Bal answered back with a splash, which set off another splashing war. He did two backstrokes away from them to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. 

“I come in peace,” Gabriel called out, hands in the air as he made his way across the grass and towards the pool. He was still wearing his red and white checkered grilling apron and holding a huge barbecuing fork. 

“Are you guys hungry yet?”

“Starving,” Cas said immediately, swimming over to the ladder. He gripped the cool metal and pulled himself out, then ran straight to the table, trusting that Balthazar and Hannah were right behind him, which they were. 

Gabriel laughed as he followed them at the regular ambling pace only an adult was capable of. He built them all burgers, making sure to leave the ketchup off of Hannah’s because she wasn’t fond of it. They scarfed the food down at alarming speed, barely tasting it, mostly just eager to jump back in the pool. 

Castiel wiped his mouth with his hand and stood. 

“Woah,” Gabriel said lightly, pushing his brother back into his chair. “You guys need a break from the water. Sit for a minute, have some lemonade.”

“Gabriel,” Castiel all but whined. “We’ve already _been_ out of the water a whole minute.”

“It’s an expression, Castiel,” Hannah contributed helpfully. Gabriel smiled at her, and Castiel couldn’t help but feel proud. He had _very_ smart friends.

Gabriel turned the music up a tiny bit and bounced to the beat as he refilled their lemonade glasses. Cas chugged his, as six year olds do, then looked up at Gabriel with huge pleading eyes.

“Alright, get out of here,” Gabriel said, flinging a hand defeatedly towards the pool. He had barely finished his sentence before all three kids leapt out of their chairs and ran towards the water, cannonballing in with three great splashes. 

Castiel secretly thought his splash was the best. He was the one with the pool after all, the one who practiced his cannonball splash at _least_ daily. Except...neither of his friends seemed impressed by his perfect form. Instead, Balthazar was staring at him with an openly horrified look on his face. 

“Cas, what is that?” Balthazar asked, pointing to his back and sounding very concerned. Castiel twisted, trying to see what Balthazar was talking about. He caught the flash of a black line across his lower back, which was weird because where could he have gotten _that_ dirty from?

“Look!” Balthazar said, almost amazed. He was pointing now to three thin lines that had appeared across Castiel’s chest, stretching over his ribs and down to his hip. 

Okay, _that_ was weird. Castiel waded over to the shallow end of the pool where he could stand with his torso out of the water. He tentatively touched the three lines, which looked suspiciously like… a claw mark tattoo. Behind him, Hannah grazed her fingers over his shoulder blade. He twisted to look, and saw a huge black spot, like someone had bounced a basketball on him right there. 

“I know what this is,” Hannah breathed, excited. “It's the soulmate mark.”

“Huh?” Castiel asked eloquently. 

“You know, how when your dad bumps his elbow your mom gets a dark spot on _her_ elbow until the bump goes away?”

Castiel did not, in fact, have much experience with that. He never got to know his mom, or his dad. Just Gabriel, and aunt Amara, who popped in every year or so. They barely ever had dark marks. 

“I have one!” Balthazar quipped, lifting a knee out of the water to reveal a small dark splotch that looked like a scrape. 

Castiel wasn’t born yesterday, he knew what the marks were, what they meant…but he had never noticed one on himself, and…never like this. He felt like someone had filled his insides with crushed ice. If this was really a soulmate mark, then it meant his soulmate was getting seriously hurt _right now._

He barely managed to pull himself out of the pool and lean over a bush before he emptied his stomach out in heave after heave. When he was done, there were tears streaming freely down his face, possibly from throwing up, _probably_ from the horrible, _horrible_ knowledge that the future love of his life was being hurt. Badly. 

As he straightened, he caught sight of a huge scrape mark along his forearm. It made him feel sick all over again. Physically sick, heartsick, everything all at once. He heaved again but there was nothing left to throw up. 

Hannah and Balthazar were out of the water too now, standing beside him, awkwardly silent and solemn. Gabriel, who must have sensed it was too still outside, came running out of the house, leaving the sliding door wide open behind him. He crashed to his knees, bringing him to eye level with a now very black and white Cas.

“Castiel,” he breathed out, horrified. 

Cas looked at his older brother, feeling weak and boneless. He was trying to hide his sobs, but they were tearing out of his body one after another like great big earthquakes. Gabriel scanned him quickly, probably looking for blood, but it wasn’t _Castiel’s_ blood that was being spilled. 

“Guys, I think Cas will see you both another day,” Gabriel said gently to his friends, dismissing them without taking his eyes off his heartbroken charge. Balthazar and Hannah mumbled sorrys and goodbyes, then grabbed their towels and let themselves out of the gate. They both lived just down the street, but Castiel wasn’t thinking about when he would see them again. He wasn’t thinking of anything except his soulmate. 

Gabriel scooped him up like a baby, even though he was a big kid now. He didn’t hold Cas away, even though his swimming shorts were dripping wet. 

Castiel wrapped his arms around his brother's neck and buried his face in his strong chest, finally letting his sobs take on the volume they needed. Gabriel carried him into the house, jaw clenched, eyes flat and furious. He took Cas into his bedroom and made short work of towelling him off and helping him step into a long sleeved pyjama, effectively hiding the worst of the marks. 

And maybe it’s because they were suddenly out of sight that Cas could speak again. His words came tumbling out, hitched and warped between his spastic inhales.

“Is he - gonna die, Gabe?”

Gabriel, who was hanging the wet shorts over a doorknob to drip dry, froze. The _he_ slid easily past his ears. He didn’t question why Cas chose a pronoun instead of the ambiguous _they_ most people settled with until they knew for sure. He didn’t have the brainpower, because it took all he had to come up with an answer that really, he couldn’t be sure of at _all._ Those marks were fucking _bad._

He settled for a mostly empty promise. 

“No buddy, of course not.”

That would normally have flown, except that Castiel was only young, not an idiot as well.

“How do you know? He’s HURT.” The sobs really weren’t slowing down, and it was getting harder and harder for Castiel to breathe. 

Gabriel kneeled in front of his little brother again and opened his arms wide. Castiel rushed forwards, letting himself be completely enveloped in his arms. Gabriel smelled like smoke and sunscreen, and that didn’t make Cas feel one bit better. 

“I’m so sorry, Cassie,” Gabriel said against his hair, sounding just as torn up as Castiel felt. But no amount of _sorry_ would fix this. Nothing Gabriel could say would take those marks away, make his skin smooth and pale again. Nothing at all until the bumps, bruises, cuts, _whatever they were_ healed on his soulmate. Or maybe not even then. If they scarred over, Castiel would be stuck with them until either he or his soulmate died. 

The thought made his stomach flip inside out and it was a very good thing he had already thrown everything up. 

“Come on, let’s get ready for bed,” Gabriel said, standing and lifting Cas with him. Castiel didn’t protest, even though the sun was still out and it was _hours_ before his bedtime. 

Gabriel carried him to the bathroom and set him down on the counter, wetting his toothbrush, squeezing out a dot of strawberry flavoured paste, then handing it to Cas, who put it in his mouth and began brushing on autopilot. 

Castiel twisted towards the mirror, blankly looking at his puffy red eyes. Right then, a black handprint appeared on his left cheek.

He choked on the foam of his toothpaste, and somehow, even more tears appeared. He didn't know he had any left to spare. 

Gabriel rushed towards him and leaned Cas forward until he was sure he wasn’t choking for real. He silently helped Cas rinse his mouth out, and as soon as the foamy paste was more or less gone, Gabriel picked Cas right up again and cradled his head into his chest, pulling his brother’s gaze away from the mirror.

Castiel tried to twist out of his grip and towards the mirror again, but Gabriel only held him tighter. 

“Don’t look, Cas,” Gabriel begged. He flicked the lights off and carried Cas to his room, setting him down lightly on his bed and tucking the thin summer covers up around him. 

Even at six, Castiel knew his brother was just saying that because he loved him and wanted to shelter him, but it was an impossible request. Castiel was no longer in front of a mirror, but the image was seared into his brain. All Castiel _could_ do was look. How could he _not_? How could he untether himself from this pain that wasn’t even really his? 

He made it a habit, right up there with brushing his teeth and making his bed. He looked every morning. Every night. 

The years passed, and each new tattoo crushed his heart. Squeezed it, shattered it. But he couldn’t seem to stop looking, because despite the pain it caused, it was his only connection to his soulmate. 

_His_ soulmate.


	2. August 8th, 1985

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day? You know I'm ignoring all adult responsibilities when I pull that sort of thing. Oh well. This one happens on the same day as the last one so they kind of go together? Flimsy excuse...I wish I cared. 
> 
> Once again, casuallyneurotic did the ugly beta work and turned my mess into less of a mess. Please go show them some love from me.

Dean was proud. Really, truly proud. Sammy was safe at home with the cheapest babysitter his dad could find, but Dean got to be _here,_ in the passenger seat of his dad’s car, buzzing with excitement because he was _finally hunting._

He had been begging his dad for _months_ for a chance to go, and had worked harder than ever to deserve this. To _prove_ that he deserved this. 

Whatever John had asked of him, he did it instantly, just to prove he could carry out orders. 

When his dad cleaned the guns, Dean watched attentively. The next time John had cleaned them, Dean had wordlessly picked one up, disassembled it, gently wiped out the dust, refilled the bullets, and oiled it with tiny, careful fingers. The time after that, John had just dropped the bag on the table and pointed. Dean had already known what to do. 

He proved he could be careful. Whenever John left him at the motel with Sam, Dean knew he had to keep his baby brother quiet. Sammy never cried, because Dean made sure he never had a _reason_ to cry. He watched the time, and every three hours, like clockwork, he mixed together exact amounts of formula and water, and carefully fed Sam. When he smelled bad, Dean changed and washed him, being overly careful not to drop or hurt him. When Sam blinked at him slowly, Dean propped a pillow on the bed and laid his brother on his chest, talking to him about anything and everything until he fell asleep. 

When Sam got a little older, Dean proved he could be patient. He held Sammy’s chubby little fists and helped him balance step by step. Then, one day when Sam stood up on his own, using nothing but a little side table and the iron-like strength of his willpower, Dean opened his arms wide, a wordless promise that if Sam tried to walk towards him, Dean wouldn’t let him fall. So far, he hasn’t. 

Dean diligently answered phones, relaying messages and fielding calls for John. When John caught him with a book on angels, he tousled Dean’s hair and let him have a sip of his beer. Dean didn’t tell him he had just been looking at the pictures. From that moment on Dean made a point to read the lore more often than he picked up his schoolwork. It seemed to please his dad, which made Dean feel ten feet tall. 

When it came to shooting practice, Dean was nothing if not determined. Most of John’s guns were taller than he was, but that didn’t deter him one bit. Each time he got thrown to the ground by the rebound, he would dust himself off, make sure the gun was okay, and readjust his tiny feet into the position John had shown him, cradling the gun against his shoulder, and aiming once more at the beer cans John would line up on a stump. At first John found it funny when he fell, but as the months bled by, Dean was landing on his ass less and less, and John spent less time amused and more time coaching him. 

Sammy would watch him with round hazel eyes when he would come in from training all muddy and scraped. He would ask in the choppy one or two word sentences he was capable of stringing together if Dean was okay, and Dean would pinch his cheeks and make faces at him until he was laughing before he would go wash up. 

It was a long two years, but Dean felt more than ready. He was itching to just be a grown up and prove himself, and the day had finally come. He was a hunter now, just like his dad. 

“Will you quit bouncing? We need to focus, or I swear, Dean, I’ll turn around and drop your ass right back home.”

Dean instantly stilled. He knew by now that John _never_ made an empty threat. 

“Are we close?” Dean asked, craning his neck to see over the dashboard. 

“Close enough,” John answered gruffly. “You remember the plan?” 

“Yeah dad, of course. We’re gonna make it run around to confuse and weaken it.”

“Good. And how do you kill an Arachne?”

“You cut it’s fucking head off.”

John, for all it was worth, turned to look at him from the side of his eye with an amused smirk.

“You can’t swear until you’re at least seven, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes at that, because six and a half was _basically_ seven. 

“Don’t screw this up. Don’t hesitate, don’t pull weak punches, don’t stand around like an idiot, don’t freeze, and most importantly, if I tell you to do something, you do it right then and there. No questions asked.”

“Yes sir,” Dean answered, a practiced response. Despite how hard he was trying to sit still, the excitement trickled back into his bones. He was going _hunting._ He was a _man_ now. He would be a hero just like his dad. 

He couldn’t wait to get home and tell Sammy all about it, even though his little brother was barely two. Even though he hadn’t even completed the hunt yet. Hadn’t technically started. 

“You’re gonna do great, Dean,” John said with a small smile. And yes, Dean knew he would. He’d been training for two _whole years_ now. He felt powerful. Ready to seriously _kick_ some monster ass. 

Sometimes, after they had been on the road for a long time, John’s tongue loosened and he would talk about Mary. This car ride had felt like an eternity already, and maybe that was what possessed Dean to open his mouth and ask. 

“Do you think mom would help us if she were here?” He missed his mom. He missed her soft hair and the way she smelled and how she always cut the crusts off his sandwiches. He would happily give away every single one of his army men for one last hug from her. 

John’s tight and delayed “No,” startled him somewhat, and curiosity got the best of him. 

“Why not?”

The question was innocent enough, but it made John look older suddenly. More tired. 

“Because if she were here then there would be no monsters.”

Dean nodded, because that was a _great_ answer. He remembered very clearly how his mom could make all the monsters go away. All she had to do was walk into his room and kiss his forehead and suddenly the monster under his bed called to the one in his closet and they both ran out the window looking for the nearest swamp to hide in.

The car rumbled smoothly over the endless stretch of dark road. Dean wondered how his dad knew where he was going. Sometimes he asked Dean to read him directions off a map, but most of the time he looked at it before they left and then didn’t need to look at it again. John was the smartest person in the world, memorizing an entire map like that. Dean hoped he would learn that trick someday too. 

He also hoped his dad would teach him how to drive soon. He stretched his legs out as far as they would go, but they didn’t touch the ground. He shimmied down in his seat until they did, but then he couldn’t see over the dashboard. That would be a slight problem if he were to drive now, even he could see that. 

“I said quit squirming Dean, we’re almost there.” 

Dean scooted back and sat ramrod straight, suddenly very worried that he _would_ be dropped back at the motel. It was rare that he got a second warning, but John didn’t say or do anything more for the last few minutes of the drive. 

Eventually, he pulled the impala to a park in the lot behind a warehouse. 

There was a small wooded area behind it, and that’s where they headed once they had picked up their weapons. Dean held his gun tightly, was hyper aware of the knife dangling from his belt, the press of an extra rock salt magazine under his waistband. 

“Stay close, I saw the bastard’s nest right up that little path,” John said softly. It was barely a whisper, but Dean’s ears were trained to that voice. He heard every word; obeyed every word. 

He and his dad padded through the muddy forest on nearly silent feet. 

The quiet was eerie at first, but then minutes passed and nothing happened. Dean was starting to wonder if the monster was even _home_ when THERE. 

A blur of black and blue. Another blur. The thing was running at alarming speed, and out of nowhere, before he could even get a single hit in, Dean was thrown, landing HARD against a fallen tree. 

The fiery line of pain at his lower back made him wonder briefly if he had broken it, but he didn’t have _time_ for broken backs. 

He had a _job_ to do. 

Dean scrambled up again, ignoring the pinching lines of electricity firing down the backs of his legs. 

“Dean!” 

He turned and _just_ caught the claws across his chest. He’d have to be faster next time. 

He aimed and fired, once, twice, three times. Only the third shot landed in the monster, and even that one missed its mark by a mile. The bullet buried itself in the Arachne’s leg, which made it roar in anger, milky blue eyes rolling in its head, spittle flying from its slit of a mouth. 

Dean _froze._

The monster blitzed past John, who had swung a knife at its neck, and landed heavily behind a still frozen Dean. It barrelled through him, putting all its weight into a solid punch to Dean’s shoulder blade. It sent him flying forward so hard he scraped his entire arm on the trunk of a tree. 

Blood welled up immediately, bright and red. 

Dean flipped over quickly, because now that his brain was back in his body, he knew leaving your back to a monster for any length of time meant death. 

But it was too late. The Arachne was looming over him, drooling long sticky strings of saliva down onto his shirt. 

Dean tried to scramble back, but the claw marks on his ribs stretched and throbbed. He couldn’t _breathe._

A slice. Loud and tearing. Bone and muscle and skin. Blood. 

The Arachne’s head dropped to the ground by Dean’s thigh. Its limp body followed a second later, revealing a _livid_ John Winchester. 

“What the _fuck,_ Dean? You FROZE.”

Dean opened his mouth to respond, to come up with some sort of defence, but there wasn’t anything good to say because his dad was right. He _did_ freeze. 

John roughly dragged a hand over the stubble on his chin and looked down at his bleeding son with frustration. After a beat, he reached a hand down to Dean, who looked at it like it was a bomb. 

John opened his hand wider in a single sharp movement, and Dean didn’t need words to know what that order meant. He reached up, ignoring his throbbing shoulder, and grasped his dad’s hand with his smaller one. 

John hauled him to his feet and Dean bit down hard to his lip, determined not to let any whimpers of pain escape. 

“Are you good?” John asked, watching Dean wipe the mostly slowed bleeding from his arm onto his dirty shirt.

“Yes sir,” Dean answered again, exactly the way he had been taught to answer. With force, like he _meant_ it. 

“Good,” John answered stiffly. 

Then, out of nowhere, a hard slap twisted Dean’s head sharply to the side. The world spun and he dropped to the ground, face landing pathetically in the mud. 

John crouched down beside him and sighed, like having to slap Dean was the most taxing thing in the world. 

“Dad?” Dean asked weakly, feeling suddenly betrayed even though deep down he knew he _completely_ deserved that one. He deserved them all. 

John sighed again, like the only thing worse than discipline was having to _explain_ the discipline. 

“I did that because I love you. Now you’ll remember to never freeze again.”

A pause. 

“Right?” 

Dean realized belatedly that he was meant to answer. 

“Yes sir.” He wanted to tell John that his back was enough of a reminder. His shoulder. His ribs. His arm. But the words died in his throat because he _knew_ what backtalk would get him. Besides, John was right. He would remember not to freeze. 

“Let's get going,” John said, rising from his crouch with a few stiff pops from his knees. He slung his gun over his shoulder and walked back out of the forest the way they came in. Dean scrambled to pick himself up off the ground like a properly dignified man, and ran to catch up to his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you couldn't tell from reading my other work, I really really loathe John. Totally and completely. In this house, we hate John.


	3. August 30th, 1993

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said Tuesdays, but we're just starting out so I thought I'd spoil you. Also, happy pandemic declaration day everyone! We brought cake into work to celebrate... because nurses are sarcastic little firecrackers.
> 
> casuallyneurotic was the brave soul behind the betaing of this work. Go check out their stuff (seriously. Go. It's fricking amazing)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left kudos and commented and subscribed! You guys make me float through my day

Castiel wasn’t normally one to obsess over what he was wearing, but the first day of high school was an important one, and he wanted to make a good impression. Even so, he was getting frustrated with his own indecision. He was now standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the hem of a light blue t-shirt over his dark jeans, and wondering if the outfit was too casual to say _hard working student._

He decided that yes, it was too casual, tore off the shirt, and dropped it onto the now sizable pile of shirts on his bed. He stalked back to his closet and pulled out two button ups, one white and the other a pale pink, then carried them both to his mirror. 

He had always been a fairly thin kid, but now his body was _finally_ losing some of its boyishness. Already, he was becoming lankier; limbs a little harder to control. His competitive tousles with Balthazar were enough to cause hints of lean muscle to appear under his pale skin, which is exactly what he was squinting at when a small bruise appeared on his cheekbone. 

He brushed a finger over it, stomach sinking. In the last few years, his soulmate’s injuries had been on and off. Sometimes there were long stretches where no new tattoos appeared. Sometimes Castiel’s skin was littered and dark with them. 

For as long as he could remember, he continually sported at least one huge and obvious marking. He continually got asked about the tattoos, and he never had a good answer. Teachers gave him pitying looks, classmates were nosy, Gabe made completely futile attempts to protect him. 

Each new marking was like a punch to the throat. 

Outwardly, he no longer burst into tears like he did when he was little, but his heart felt blended up just the same. He thumbed roughly at the tattoo that had bloomed just a little bit wider under his eye, but no matter what he did, how he touched it, he knew he wouldn’t be able to erase it. 

The hollow ache in his chest expanded. Maybe it was his early teenage angst, but he needed to hold his soulmate and make sure they were okay. It was a cruel world he lived in, not knowing who he, or _she_ was, yet being so connected to them his entire life. 

Cas sighed heavily, knowing there was nothing he could do but try to calm himself down and wait. He would meet them eventually; no amount of raging, crying, desperately hoping, or searching would make the day come any faster. He would know - he had tried _everything_ already.

He held one of the shirts in front of himself, then the other, somewhat annoyed that it had taken him so long to get dressed already. It was while he was switching back and forth again, gazing distractedly into the mirror, that the two black handprints appeared on his neck. 

“No,” Castiel breathed, dropping the shirts and touching his neck in one horrified movement. 

His soulmate was getting _choked._ There was nothing else this could be...not with the dark, thick, distinct finger marks circling his neck, the two dark blotches over his trachea. _Thumbs._

He was instantly shaking, covered in cold sweat, and he couldn’t _breathe._

Before he knew it, he was running down the stairs, tripping and sliding and calling out for Gabriel like something was on fire. There may as well have been.

He crashed straight into his brother in the kitchen, heart in his throat, pulse throbbing in his ears. 

“Gabriel,” someone choked out.

Gabriel took a step back. Froze. Elegantly dropped the plate he had been holding and didn’t even flinch when it shattered on the floor. 

“No, no kid. NO.” 

Castiel didn’t even realize how hard he was shaking until his brother laid a hand at his throat and the eerie stillness of it shocked him. 

“What do I do, Gabe?” He asked in a rush, sounding just as broken as he felt. 

“Breathe Cassie, please breathe.” Gabriel pulled him tight to his chest and Castiel really truly made an effort to inhale properly, to match the rise and fall of his chest to the exaggeratedly obvious pace his brother was setting for him. It didn’t help one bit. He felt like he might implode. 

“He’s gonna die Gabe,” Castiel choked out between gasps of air. 

“No. No, don't even say that. Look at me.” He was a limp rag doll, pliant, not an ounce of control over his own body. Gabriel put a hand on either side of his head and pulled him away far enough to look into his eyes.

“It’s still there. Dark and ugly, but it’s still _there,_ Cas. He isn’t dead until they all disappear, you _know_ that.”

And somewhere, in the back of his panicked mind, Castiel _did_ know that. It was the only thing that kept him going all these years, knowing that the few dark little scar marks that never faded meant he still had a chance. 

He dragged in a rough breath and suddenly needed to see for himself; to confirm it. He pushed away from Gabriel and made a beeline for the bathroom mirror. The feeling rushed back into his limbs when he saw the horrible handprints were still there, black as a death omen, but still there. 

“Cas,” Gabriel said, nearly ghostlike from behind him. He reached out and laid a hand on Castiel’s bare shoulder. Cas flinched away from the touch. 

“He’s okay.”

“You don’t know that,” Castiel answered hollowly, knuckles white where he was gripping the edge of the sink. 

“I don’t,” Gabriel admitted after a beat. This was a conversation they had had hundreds of times. Thousands. “But I do know that he’s one hell of a tough guy. Whatever is happening, wherever he is, he will be okay. If that tattoo hasn’t vanished by now, It’s not going to.”

Castiel took a steadying breath. His brother was right. If nothing had happened already, then probably, hopefully, nothing would. 

He didn’t flinch this time when Gabriel reached out and took his bare elbow, guiding him away from the mirror. Another thing they had done way too often. It seemed like Gabriel was always pulling him away from mirrors. 

“Go find something to cover that up and come back down. I was making pancakes.”

Castiel felt himself nod, felt himself walk back up the stairs and into his bedroom, felt himself pick up the first shirt he touched. The pink button up from the floor. When the neckline was too low, he grabbed a scarf from his closet at random and twisted that on as well. It was far too warm for a scarf, even a thin one, but Castiel barely noticed. 

He glared at his reflection in the mirror, marvelling at the unfairness of it all. It was the worst kind of anticipation, being physically reminded that you had a person you were destined to be with, but only when that person got injured. 

Castiel sighed deeply. He knew he would spend all day trying - and failing - to put this out of his mind.

He grabbed his backpack and padded back downstairs. Gabriel had swept up the broken plate and there was little evidence of the morning’s catastrophe except for the scarf Cas was wearing, which was horribly out of place in the late August weather. 

“Two or three?” Gabriel asked, holding the pink plastic flipper menacingly over a stack of pancakes. He was trying to act normal, and Castiel was endlessly grateful for that.

“Two,” he answered. Normally he had a fairly decent appetite, but he wasn’t quite sure how much he could stomach at the moment. Gabriel chose two pancakes and drowned them in syrup before setting them in front of Cas, who dug right in. 

“Are you excited?”

Castiel nodded, unable to respond properly through his mouthful of food. He was excited. This was a new chapter, a new beginning. Sure, it hadn’t started out exactly how he had imagined, but things could still turn out okay. 

“I remember my first day of high school,” Gabriel started wistfully, stabbing at his pancakes with a fork. “I got numbers for half the grade by the time the day was over. Slept through most of them by the end of September.”

“Gross,” Castiel gasped, truly horrified. Gabriel laughed maniacally, and the tension between them broke. 

“Can I drive you to school? Or are you too old for that now?”

“Gabe, it’s a 15 minute walk,” Castiel reasoned. 

“So...is that a no?”

Castiel sighed lightly. Gabriel had driven him to school on the first day every single year so far. He had no intention of breaking that tradition. 

“You can take me if you’re not too busy.”

Gabriel winked at him, swiping away a drop of syrup with his tongue. “Never too busy for my baby bro.”

Castiel groaned. “If you call me that again I might just walk.”

Gabriel raised his hands in surrender and gathered their plates. He set them in the sink and rinsed them off while Cas went to the doorway and put on his shoes. He stood there, leaning against the wall, and pulled out his phone while he waited for Gabriel. 

He had three texts, a _see you soon!_ from Hannah and a more wildly worded _it’s too bloody early to be awake right now_ followed by an immediate _how dare you ignore me_ from Balthazar. 

He shot off responses to them both, promising to find them in the cafeteria if they didn’t end up having any morning classes together. He had seen his friends nearly every day the entire summer, but he was still looking forward to seeing them again today. Despite how he tried to look, he was nervous, and the adrenaline surge this morning definitely hadn’t helped his day-one jitters. Seeing a familiar face would definitely help. 

“Ready?” Gabriel asked, flipping the keys on their ring. 

“Yep,” Cas answered, readjusting his backpack. He followed his brother out the front door and walked to the passengers side of the car while Gabriel locked up the house. 

The ride was quick and mostly silent, but then, most of their car rides were. When Gabriel pulled into the school parking lot, noticeably bigger than his middle school lot, Castiel surprised him by leaning over for a hug. 

“I love you,” Castiel said, then unclicked his seat belt and leapt out of the car before he could lose his nerve. He walked a couple steps, but he could still hear the mechanical buzz of the window rolling down. 

“Cas!” 

He turned. Gabriel was smiling at him, arm outstretched, three fingers held up in the _I love you_ sign. Castiel smiled back, gave his brother a final wave, then turned and wove through the crowd and towards the school. 

It was a good thing he had come early, because it took him nearly 15 minutes to find his homeroom. The school was _massive_ compared to his old one, and despite having lived in the same small town his entire life, he barely recognized anyone. 

He plopped down into a seat near the front, and turned to smile at the redheaded girl who was already seated beside him.

“It’s a zoo out there.”

“Yeah I know. Humans are wild aren’t they?” She answered, as if she excluded herself from that general category. Castiel huffed out a laugh. He liked her already. Maybe this would turn out to be a good experience after all. 

“I’m Castiel.”

“Charlie,” she answered, holding out a pale freckled hand, which he shook. 

“I heard this class was supposed to be brutal.”

“Yeah?” Castiel asked, starting to feel nervous again. He had ended up with science as his homeroom, and he was fairly good at science, but this all felt like new territory.

Charlie shrugged and flipped open her notebook, the first page of which was already dark with doodles of robots and aliens. 

She turned towards him, twirling a pencil with impressive speed back and forth through her fingers. Her gaze was piercing, and made Cas starkly aware that he was currently sporting an obvious tattoo on his face. He crossed his fingers under his desk, hoping wildly that she just wouldn't ask about it. 

“What’s with the scarf?” Charlie finally said.

Castiel felt himself blush and hoped he didn’t resemble a lobster too closely. “I was..uh..cold.” The lie was poorly delivered and Cas could tell she didn’t buy it in the slightest, but he was grateful that she didn’t push. 

Slowly, more students trickled in. Some he vaguely knew, most he didn’t recognize. Balthazar and Hannah were nowhere to be seen. 

The teacher, a stout black man with an impressive head of dreadlocks, jumped right into the syllabus once the bell rang. Twice during the class, Castiel was tempted to ask if he could go to the bathroom, not because he had to go, but because he wanted to make sure the tattoo was still there; a guarantee that the love of his life was still alive.

Somehow, he managed to make it through the class. He even took some good notes, but once the bell rang, he gathered his books and bolted to the nearest washroom, where he tugged the scarf down with a finger. He weakened with relief when he saw the dark ink still circling his throat. 

“Dude, are you gay?” sneered a voice from beside the sink. Castiel turned to look at who had asked and was met with a suave looking kid with dark hair and blue eyes. 

“No, I’m Castiel. And you are?”

The guy flicked his hands dry, spraying drops of water all over the floor. “Michael.” He shouldered past Cas, who stepped easily out of his way. “Nice shirt,” Michael scoffed over his shoulder on his way out. Castiel turned back towards the mirror and smiled a little. It _was_ a nice shirt. 

The rest of the morning trickled by. He had an English class, then geography, neither of which were with his friends. By lunchtime, he was starving, so he made a quick pit stop by his locker to grab his lunch bag and deposit his books, then made his way over to the cafeteria. 

The large room was crowded with students and loud with conversation. There was a long lineup to order whatever was on the menu for the day, and Cas was glad he had taken the time to make himself a sandwich last night. 

“Castiel!”

He turned and saw Hannah waving wildly at him from a table in the middle of the room. He smiled and shouldered his way over to her. Balthazar stood when he saw him and crushed him in a hug, which Hannah joined in on. 

“Where were you all day?” Balthazar asked, raising an eyebrow like Cas’s schedule was his own fault. 

“In class.”

“Well, you’re in all the wrong classes then. I was with Bal all morning. How dare they split us up?” Hannah asked, sounding personally offended. Castiel laughed but couldn't help feeling a twinge of disappointment at having been separated. 

He took a seat and pulled out his sandwich. “What do you have this afternoon?” 

“Math, geography, then art,” Hannah answered, peeling open a zip lock bag of baby carrots. 

“I’ve got English and gym and then history.”

Castiel swallowed his bite of food. “Math, art, then history. At least I have one class with each of you.” 

When Balthazar didn’t reply, Castiel looked up. 

“Are you cold, mate?” Balthazar asked, eyeing the scarf like it was the elephant in the room, which it sort of was. Castiel sighed. Better just get it over with. He tugged part of the scarf down with a finger for a brief flash before pulling it back up, but it was enough. He knew by Hannah’s perfectly round eyes that she saw and she understood. 

“Well shit,” Balthazar said, lips tight. Castiel shrugged, because there really wasn’t much else to say. His friend had pretty much summed it up. Not for the first time, Castiel was grateful that he had a tight group to support him. He knew he would have spun out and gone wild with anxiety long ago were it not for them. 

A blur of red caught Castiel’s eye and he turned to see Charlie, holding a tray of food and looking lost. 

“Hey!” He reached out and touched her arm gently to get her attention. She looked at him, clearly relieved. “Come sit with us.” Castiel scooted over, making room between him and Balthazar. 

“Thanks,” Charlie breathed as she plopped down. 

“Guys, this is Charlie. Charlie, Balthazar and Hannah,” Cas introduced.

“I love your hair,” Hannah immediately said with a smile, to which Charlie visibly relaxed. 

“Thanks, I like your shirt,” Charlie complimented back, nodding to the simple grey top Hannah was wearing. Castiel watched the exchange, marvelling at how girls seemed to have a language of their own. They jumped into the conversation so easily, as if they had known and liked each other their entire lives. 

“How’s your first day going?” Balthazar asked.

“Pretty good, actually,” Charlie answered lightly, taking a huge bite of her apple. Sitting at that table, it truly felt like a new beginning, like things were about to change monumentally, no going back. Castiel felt like he wasn’t a kid anymore, he was in _high school,_ and that meant something here. 

He looked first at Hannah, then at Charlie, then at Bal, and despite all the shifting ground of uncertainty, all the things that were up in the air, he felt that these friendships would last forever, and he couldn’t help but smile at that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I'd post this tonight since I'll be at work all day tomorrow. Let me know what you think! I live off of comments.
> 
> Beta: the incomparable casuallyneurotic

The car sped over a pothole and Dean jolted in the passenger seat. His head bumped against the window but he kept his eyes shut because the light outside hurt. He’d hit his head pretty hard when he got thrown, but he was trying his best not to make a big deal of it because it wasn’t the first time and definitely wouldn't be the last. 

The hunt had gone sideways pretty much right away. The vampire nest they stormed had just come back from feeding, so they were hopped up on human blood and strong as _fuck._ It didn’t help that their tip was more than a little off, so there were almost twice as many vamps as anticipated. He, his father, and thirteen year old Sam were quickly overwhelmed, and they escaped with their lives. Barely. John had to give Sam almost twenty six stitches, thanks to the window he was thrown through. Dean had more bruised skin than unbruised skin at this point. 

They had called for backup, which by some miracle was nearby, and the hunt was completed, even though the vamps were waiting for them the second time around and were no less vicious than the first time. Dean cradled his arm, which had been torn out of its socket for a good hour before John found a moment to pop it back in for him. 

“This is gonna be so much fun boys,” John said through the music. Dean felt him turn to look, and he cracked an eye open. Pretending to sleep didn’t really fly, not in this car. Dean nodded, then immediately regretted it when his brain throbbed from the back and forth. 

John clearly felt guilty about the serious pummeling they had all taken. He piled both boys into the car and declared a road trip vacation to go visit Bobby. Sam had been over the moon, and so had Dean, but he was not so easily fooled. He knew there was a high chance his dad would find a hunt on the way and take a detour, which would turn into another detour, then another, and they would never make it to some time off. They never did. 

But this time, John kept all laptops firmly shut, all books and weapons zipped safely in their duffels. They showered, checked out of the dingy motel room, then took off straight for South Dakota. 

“Need a break, dad?” 

“Hell no, we’re half an hour out tops. I ain’t stopping to switch,” John answered immediately. Dean was grateful for that, because he honestly didn’t trust himself to keep the car on the road. Not with his pulsing vision and pounding headache. 

Sam perked up in the back and shuffled his books around. The nerd was _always_ reading something. Dean guessed that was his way of making up for barely ever going to school, but the heavy tome his kid brother was holding was heavier than him and the cover was scrawled with drawings of angles and squiggly lines and letters and numbers all mixed together. It made Dean’s headache worse just to think about it. 

“Are we gonna stay for a while?”

“Of course, Sammy,” John answered with a bright, genuine smile. “Probably two or three weeks. You can even go to school if you want.”

“Really? ...Thanks dad,” Sam said, almost disbelievingly.

Dean turned carefully to look back at his brother, who was eating up John’s promises like a gullible child. Like he hadn’t ever been lied to or tricked before. Dean wished he had that sort of optimism left, but school was a far off dream to him now and he knew it. He was supposed to be in his last year of high school but never stayed in one place long enough for people to even learn his name.

He barely passed his last semester. Heck, he probably wouldn’t have if his teachers hadn’t taken pity on him and bumped his grades up to a D. 

“We’re going to have so much fun boys. We’ll go fishing and I’ll teach you both how to set a rabbit trap and hunt deer,” John rambled. Both Sam and Dean wisely refrained from telling him that Bobby had done all those things with them two years ago when he had dumped them with him in a fit of rage for a whole week. 

“That sounds really fun, dad,” Sam said, leaning forward between the seats. Dean smirked, wondering when his little brother had learned to lie so easily. 

“Yeah it will be. It’s gonna be good. We deserve a break.” John said it with a barely masked longing, and despite how upset he was for his dad’s recklessness, Dean felt bad for the man. He wished his dad could slow down and live for a minute. His wild appetite for revenge was insatiable, and although his main hunt was the yellow eyed demon that killed his wife thirteen years ago, he took his boundless anger out on any supernatural creature he encountered along the way. 

The car bounced over another pothole and Dean actually winced this time. 

“You good, Dean?” John asked, flicking his eyes briefly to his eldest son. For a moment, Dean debated telling him that no, he was far from good, it felt like his bones were on fire and someone had blended up his brains and poured them back into his skull, but even as he thought of saying it he knew it was pointless. There was nothing his dad could or would do about it. There was nothing to stitch, nothing left to pop back into place, so there was nothing to fix. 

“I’m good, dad,” Dean answered, making an effort to turn his head and smile. John seemed satisfied with that, so he turned the music up and let the loud thrum of rock thump through the car. 

Dean tipped his head gently against the cool window and tried to shut everything out. 

He must have actually fallen asleep, because the next thing he was aware of was Sam, gently shaking his shoulder to wake him. 

“We’re here, Dean,” his brother whispered. Dean groaned and wiped the sleep from his eyes. His belly grumbled and he put a hand to it, looking at Sam with a lazily entertained look on his face.

“Looks like I’m hungry. You better take my bag inside for me or else I might eat you.”

Sam snorted. He was too old to fall for Dean’s antics, but he grabbed both his and Dean’s duffles anyway. Dean shut the car door and stretched his arms to the sky, immediately regretting the movement because his bones all popped and his muscles hissed at him. He dropped his arms back down slowly and tried to walk normally as he followed Sam to the front door. 

John waited until Dean was a few steps away before he walked in without knocking. 

“Bobby!” he called from the cluttered entryway.

“In the kitchen,” Bobby called back. There was a sudden clatter of metal and Dean walked through the house to find Bobby glaring at a splat of red sauce on the floor. He had dropped his stirring spoon. 

“Dammit,” Bobby muttered as he bent to pick up the utensil and wipe the sauce away. The pot on the stove bubbled and steamed and a thick burning smell filled the room. 

“DAMMIT,” Bobby cursed louder, taking the pan off the heat and setting it straight on the counter. Dean wasn’t sure if he should laugh or let Bobby know that he might be melting his linoleum. Neither option seemed safe at this point. 

“Hiya boys,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel and pulling Sam in for a hug. When it was Dean’s turn, he braced himself, but the air still left his lungs in a rush when Bobby crushed him in a tight hug. 

Bobby froze and pulled back a foot, holding Dean still by his shoulders. He looked at him like he could see right through him and didn’t quite like what he saw. Dean wanted to punch himself for being so dramatic, for giving himself away so easily. 

“John, when was the last time these boys ate?” Bobby asked, slowly letting go of Dean to clasp John’s outstretched arm and pull him in for a rough back slap. 

“Oh, they eat plenty. Eat me out of house and home.” He laughed like it was the funniest joke anyone had ever told, but Dean watched the way Sam hungrily eyed the burned sauce and the bitter feeling in his chest grew. 

“Well good thing I boiled all my pasta then,” Bobby answered. He pulled down four plates and mixed a strainer full of noodles into the sauce. Some were long and thin, some twisting, some looked like little bows. 

“How was the drive?” Bobby asked as he set the food down and scooped a huge potion for Sam, then one for Dean. 

“It was great! I learned about logarithms,” Sam said around a mouthful of pasta. He had a long stripe of sauce down his chin and Dean silently handed him a tissue from the box on the table. 

“Logarithms? You’re gonna have to teach me that one son,” Bobby said with a squint. “What grade are you in now?”

“Eight sir.”

“And they teach logarithms in eighth grade?” Bobby asked, amazed. Dean’s eyes flicked to John, so he was the only one who watched his face darken. 

“No sir-”

“They don’t, but Sammy here has an interest in _studying._ ” John said it the same way you would if your son had an interest in selling heroin or shooting puppies. 

“Well I think that’s great. The mark of a true genius, working ahead.”

Sam beamed at the same time as John scoffed. Dean shovelled another forkful of the pasta into his mouth so he wouldn’t have to take a side. The sauce was smoky and despite the crunchiness of some pieces, it was the best damn thing he had eaten in weeks. It was _warm_ for a start.

“How are you liking school, Dean?”

Damn. Just when he thought he’d gotten away. 

“Uhhh, It’s fine I guess? I’m not really going.” The tension that suddenly flooded the room was more than palpable, it was suffocating. 

“John?” Bobby asked, icily demanding an explanation with just his intonation. 

John shrugged and unscrewed the cap off a half empty bottle of whiskey that was on the table. He took a long chug. 

“The man’s gotta learn to hunt. Ain’t no point living your life buried in books when real life is out to get you.”

Bobby set his fork down and flattened both palms on the table. “Excuse me?”

John turned, narrowing his eyes at him. Dean wondered for the first time if their friendship was really born out of mutual respect and understanding, or if John just used Bobby as an occasional free babysitter and Bobby took it like a champ. 

“You heard me. Man’s gotta focus on hunting.”

“He isn’t a man John, He’s a boy. How old are you, Dean?”

“Seventeen, sir,” Dean answered quietly. 

“Seventeen, John. Last I checked, that wasn’t a man.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest. He didn’t care either way, but he could tell his dad was already boiling beneath the thin layer of calm. He needed to stop Bobby before things got ugly, but Bobby just held a hand out to silence him. 

“You can’t keep lugging them across the country like this, John. Do you know what they’ll do if they find out these boys aren’t in school?”

And there it was. The exterior cracked. The poison was flooding out. Dean wanted to grab Sam and run but he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. 

“Are you threatening me?” John asked, a deadly acidity dripping from his voice.

“Maybe I am, John. It’s about time you woke up and realized you’re a _father._ Ain’t no point chasing revenge if you have no family to chase it for by the time you’re done.”

And that, right there, was miles too far. John stood and slammed his fists on the table. Their plates rattled. 

“What the _fuck_ did you just say to me?” 

“Nothing you shouldn’t already know, son,” Bobby answered evenly. He wasn’t that much older than John, but the disparity between their maturity levels had never been bigger. Dean felt like his foundation was shaking. 

This was not good. It was SO not good. The pin had been pulled. The match had been struck. He didn’t know how to reverse it this time. 

“Look at them. Sam has stitches. Dean’s moving like he’s older than I am.”

“Bobby, I’m okay,” Sam said, small and quiet.

“Like fuck you’re okay,” Bobby answered him without taking his eyes off of John. Sam shrunk back in his seat and Dean wanted to reach out and hold him but his brother was older now and would be embarrassed by that, no matter how much he may have needed it. 

John’s face changed colour from red, to a beetroot, then to nearly purple. It might have been funny on a cartoon character, but this was real life, and it wasn’t funny at all. 

“You know what, fuck you, Bobby. You care about them so much?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Then you take them. I’m done. And don’t come running back to me when they’re too much to handle. Dean is the biggest idiot you’ve ever met. Can’t do a single thing right. Isn’t even worth the air he breathes.” John took in a breath, a pause long enough for the words to sink in and cut Dean to bits from the inside out. “And Sammy?” John let out a cruel laugh. “The kid cries so much he’s practically a girl.” 

Sam stood so abruptly his chair tipped back with a loud bang. Dean flinched at the sound, but Sam was _mad._ Jaw clenched, eyes burning kind of anger. John didn’t stay long enough to face it. 

“Fuck you all. I do my best and this is what I get for it? I have a demon to hunt, and since it’s clear I’m the only one that ever loved Mary, it looks like I’ll have to hunt it down on my own.”

John’s boot stomps made the walls rattle as he stalked to the front door and wretched it open. He walked out without bothering to either close it, or to look back. Dean and Sam followed behind him like tied, helium filled balloons. Dean watched as his dad tore open the car door. He had barely slammed it shut before the engine was on and he was peeling out of the driveway, tires kicking up dust. 

And just like that, his tether to planet Earth was snipped.

Dean watched the dust cloud slowly blow away, feeling weirdly numb. He looked down at Sam, who was pointedly staring at the sky and blinking. He was clearly trying to look tough, trying not to cry, but Dean knew that trick. Hell, he’d _taught_ Sammy that trick. He was just about to reach out and comfort his brother when a warm heavy hand landed on his shoulder. 

He turned to see Bobby standing between them, hand on each of them. 

“I’m sorry, boys.”

Dean wanted to answer, but he couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat. _Isn’t even worth the air he breathes._

The words might not have hurt so bad if Dean hadn’t already thought them about himself before. They might not have hurt at all if they hadn’t come from the man he had loved and idolized his whole life. 

“It’s not your fault, sir.” Sam said, once it became clear that Dean wouldn’t be talking. 

Bobby looked down at him with a strangely hurt expression. “I’m not a _sir,_ kid. I’m just Bobby.”

Sam’s eyes flicked up to Dean’s, startled. He’d never been in a situation where he was asked to use _less_ respect instead of _more_ respect. Dean didn’t have any guidance on this one, because he’d never been in that situation either. 

“Come on,” Bobby said, tugging them gently back inside. “You boys must be tired.”

Dean wasn’t tired, he was _numb,_ but he didn’t have the heart to argue. He knew Sam would follow his example, and that was the only reason he kept a straight face, like John leaving wasn’t a big deal at all. He followed Bobby back inside and sat back at the table to finish his pasta, even though it was now cold and sat like rocks in his belly.


End file.
